


Caliban's ABCs

by Wil



Category: Batman (Movies 1989-1997), Black Jewels - Bishop, Cal Leandros - Thurman, Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Trek: The Original Series, The Silmarillion - Tolkien, The Time Machine
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crack, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wil/pseuds/Wil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets, themed. Includes various AU experiments, mostly with Cal POV. Crossover with various fandoms is included - see tags for guest appearances.</p><p><b>Teaser:</b><br/>There is nothing to say about my dreams. And that, is the greatest lie I can tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. B for Black, Black Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minviendha (Lise)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



There is nothing to say about my dreams. And that, is the greatest lie I can tell.

The truth is, they're not dreams. They're nightmares. But they're good nightmares. Last night, we were whole again. Who's we, now that's the question, isn't it, Hamlet? I want to say that they terrify me, but that wouldn't be entirely true. No. They creep me out, and they make me happy at the same time, which of course means I get more crept out by the happy, and here I go on a dark Ferris wheel of stoned madness.

Nik says I can't try drugs, since we don't know what they would do to me, but sometimes, I wish I could. Maybe it'd give me a rest. Maybe for one night, I wouldn't thrash around like a fucking spinning dervish. Maybe for one night I'd be Cal, and just Cal.

In the dreams, I'm free. I don't have Nik to be my conscience. What scares me the most is that in the dreams, I'm glad of that. Truth is, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to Jiminny Cricket. I hope I never find out.

In the dreams, I walk into Tyffany's and hold them up. The clerk hurries about to give me all the diamonds he has, and the fat lady with the annoying mongrel of a pocket dog offers to write me a check. But in the dreams, I squash the little barking scratchy thing's head against a marble column, I shoot the begging and sputtering rich lady while the clerk pisses himself. And then I laugh, before I set the place on fire, and I don't even take the smallest little stone. It's glorious, and that's all I think as the place goes up in flames, but ten minutes later I'm bored again.

In the dreams, there's always a moment where steel comes along. It's not expected, it's not planned, but it's there and I know it's coming for me. In the dreams, the steel is like Damocles' sword, floating over me, but only I can see it. It's there and it's not there, and sometimes I think maybe I'm paranoid, because I did kill Nik, didn't I, and there's no one to stop me now, is there? I'm immortal and no-one can kill me, and I'll just have the run of the town until Kingdom come. Except for how I don't really give a shit about human gods. Lies and fairy tales, all of it.

And then it all comes spiraling, there's something about my stomach that hurts, so much, like a burning churning thing that tries to eat out my entrails, and I scream, I scream and I shake... and I open my eyes.

"Hey, hey, Grasshopper," he's shaking me, gently enough, and I open my eyes with horror and terror.

"Oh god, Nik." And then I break a little inside, because he's there, he's alive, and all I can think of is how I was happy that he was dead in the dream, and how I'm such a fucking monster.

"You were having a nightmare, Cal. This one sounded worse than the others."

"Caliban," I whispered, correcting him. Don't, don't, don't call me Cal. I'm a fucking monster.

He ignores that and goes to make breakfast, or something, I don't really care what it is, because all I know is that I want to be someone else, but I can't help looking at him, because oh, Christ, thank God Nik is alive.

"There was something in the park last night," Nik tells me. "We're leaving in two hours. Eat."

And I squirt a deep, red heap of ketchup on my eggs, and just look at them. Is it me, or does it look like blood dripping? But then Nik stares at me disapprovingly, and it's tomato sauce again, and I go on with my life.


	2. F for Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author note:** I wrote this in response to a prompt, again. It's crack. Utter and complete crack.

So here we go again, damn it.

I hate the nausea that comes with it when we get to destination with that damn machine of Rafferty's. He'd shown up one day with it, and ever since, the paranormal detective business had taken on a whole new dimension.

LITERALLY.

I mean, the Auphe didn't start up with the arrival of television, no. They'd been around for so long that everywhere, in every single hit of human history, the legacy of Daddy Dearest could be found. I wish I could say found and erased, but it's not that way, oh no.

When you've seen the future, cynicism just gets moved on to a whole new level. Really.

It's just luck that we got out. Really. It was almost too good to be true, with the beautiful little people, innocent and perfect in so many ways. They came to use with garlands of flowers, kissed our faces, worshiped us. One of them was a redhead – what's with me and redheads? She took my hand and I didn't quite manage to say no.

Then the night came.

She smelled good, I found. Too good. Like sweet cherries waiting to be plucked from a tree. And then they came. Tap tap tap. I tried to save her, I swear I did, but then they'd gone into a tunnel, and they were off, and Niko said he'd fixed the machine and we had to go now.

And now I wonder.

Maybe I should have just stayed and joined. Seriously. What's the use, now?

I'm just a monster like them.


	3. J for Juvenile

Sometimes I think Austin exists just to annoy the hell out of me. January is meant to be cold. It's meant to be unpleasant, wet, and downright ass-freezing when it can. It's meant to keep you awake.

Instead, it's so hot I'd walk around without a shirt if I had my way, but Nik doesn't let me. It's just for a month, he says. We'll be outta here in no time. Just another attempt at escaping the damn Auphe, hiding in places where there are not that many trees.

Also means there's not that many Happy Cals, though, except after lunch. They like their siesta, 'round here, and I'm just fine with that. Cyrano might wake me up at the crack of dawn, but I still manage to sneak in a couple hours at the crack of noon. At least this place isn't the buttcrack of the universe. I also like the word crack way too much. Must be all those hormones I don't have.

Gets boring, though. I found a job as a bar-tender, even if I'm under-age. Doesn't matter. I'd never drink anyway, and they'll never know. There's this guy who comes every evening. He smells of horses on Mondays and of grease on Tuesdays. I don't know what he smells like the other days of the week: I just plain decided to avoid his stink as much as I could. Idiot. Sometimes he talks to me – 'Just a small-town dude, y'know,' and when he starts I just nod and tune him out.

The guy who owns the bar is alright. I might even like him if I trusted him. Johnny, he's called. Tall like a fridge with a grin that reminds me vaguely of an old piano. He keeps a Winchester under the bar and burps loudly, but he doesn't talk more than is necessary – when he does, though, I wish I had earplugs. He's never relaxes about anything, like he expects Jesse James to show up and starts shooting at the mirrors behind the dance floor. I don't mind. I figure he'll die as fast as the others, but at least he'll die knowing, if They come. When They come.

Mary's another story. She smiles softly every time she serves, and talks only when people make her. There's something sad about her – she never laughs, and when she chuckles, it doesn't reach her eyes. She has pretty eyes, though, amber and warm, just like bits of the sky at sunset. It's calming to be around her- she feels like a feminine version of Nik. She has red hair that coils and bounces like springs, and sometimes I wish I could just grab a handful of those curls, to know what touching them feels like. When that happens, I get the urge to go just out to take a breath – not a smoke, but it would make a better excuse – and then it passes.

When she gets off, she goes to another club. She may not speak, but Mary dances. One day, I followed her – it was late, I was worried, but I don't know that I could have admitted it if she'd found me out. She opened the door and slipped in. I kept on having images of her pliant curves spinning around a pole for old crones for the whole week. I never followed her again.

Sometimes I'd rather close my eyes and pretend I'm just Jimmy. I tell them that I get high when they ask how was my day off. It shuts them up. I'd rather be alone, I tell them. Yeah. Right. Keep telling yourself that, Cal.

Doesn't matter. The car's fixed. We're leaving tomorrow.


	4. P for Pirate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in response to a prompt, again. It's crack. Utter and complete crack.

"Avast!" I said, grumpily as I looked over the railing. " Another French ship, damn it. What are they up to?"

Niko turned, slowly, to face me with his good eye after he brought down the telescope. He'd lost his left eye in a duel with Blackbeard, and for some reason, he never looked inconvenienced by it. If you asked, blimey, Blackbeard had suffered much more for it than Nik ever would. Then again, the captain of the Sea Monster was a force to be reckoned with in the Carribean. My brother had never given an inch, even when those mad-lookin' oyster men had come clambering ont the bridge.

Sometimes I wondered what kept him goin', but I knew it was all about me, deep down. Second on the fastest pirate ship on the Seven seas, I was nevertheless the biggest threat to safety, and he knew it. I never thought about the godforsaken swamp where we'd grown up. Never once.

I think sometimes he did, though. But then at night his bloodsucker woman came out. Sometimes she came on the bridge, to look over me and the boys, dicin'. I didn't really talk to them. Just diced. Gotta keep the boys busy, Niko said.


	5. U for University

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author note:** I wrote this in response to a prompt, again. It's crack. Utter and complete crack. Cameo appearances of: Jaenelle Angelline and Lucivar Yaslana of the _Black Jewel Trilogy_, Robb Stark and Tyrion Lannister of _A Song of Ice and Fire,_ Caranthir and Finarfin of the _Silmarillion_, Bruce Wayne of _DC Comics_, Spock of _Star Trek:TOS. _

* * *

First day of school, and they were all in the conference room, waiting for the dean's opening speech to start.

I was running late, as always. Caliban Leandros, Student Counselor extraordinaire. Excuse me while I snort in self-derision. Why they would have even considered me for this gig, I couldn't begin to imagine. Particularly the bit where they wanted me to be the main counselor for the undergrads. It had to be something Nik came up with. He was doing well, Nik. Main chairman for the Public Health Department, who would have thought? All these years of pestering me were paying off, after all.

I slipped in my chair and read the names to myself while Dean Finarfin started the long speech of boredom.

There was the badass fiscal specialist, Caranthir (where do they get these names, anyway?). Next to him, and cringing, there was the little poli-sci T.A with the red hair. At least he had a decent name, that one. Robb Stark. A bit short, but it worked. What was funny was that he was bigger than his boss by several heads. I suppose they had to give Tyrion Lannister a bunch of phone books to sit on, if he was going to be able to follow.

The head of Medical School was there too. Weird woman, that, with her wide eyes and her pouty lips, and blond, but she doesn't look stupid, just freakishly other. She smells funny, and I'm not comfortable with that. And again with the messed up name of Jaenelle. What the hell is this place? Beats Caliban, but still. She's got a whole host of people around her, and that bigass guy with the WINGS, wtf, I think he's the head shrink, or something. Enough to make people go bonkers, one way ticket to Arkham Asylum, all that.

It gets worse, though. Then there's the guy with a stick up his hind, the pointy ears and the weird eyebrows of doom. He doesn't seem to know how to smile, and he doesn't have a first name. Or maybe he doesn't have a last name? Anyway, he's overall just Mr. Spock. Head of the Physics department. Maybe he talks to molecules in his sleep, or something. He keeps on staring at the head of Law School disapprovingly. Then again, can't imagine someone as radically different from him as the Bat-fucking-Man. Seriously.

Come to think of it.

The students will need lots of counseling, this year. Joy.


End file.
